


Sunder

by screechfox



Series: Amputate [3]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Cybernetics, Gen, Kirin is kind of a dick, Unsuccessful Emotional Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 17:32:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10365849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screechfox/pseuds/screechfox
Summary: Strife is busily working on building a new eye, when he gets an unexpected guest, in the form of Kirin. Strife does not want Kirin's advice.(How did he lose his eye? Blame Parvis.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> i rise from the depths of gw2 with this fic
> 
> i am not even technically in the yogs fandom anymore, but i'm determined to finish as many wips as possible

It’s not that Parvis has been treating him as replaceable, per say.

Well, maybe it is, a little bit.

For all Parv’s complaints about having less blood to work with, his eyes always slide over to Strife whenever a ritual needs a body part. Parv hasn’t been able to resist asking, and Strife has been finding it harder and harder to say no.

Well. That implies that he’s _continued_ saying no.

If _that_ were true, there wouldn’t be a dark spot in his vision, and a soft red patch over where… well, over where his eye _used_ to be.

Hopefully that’ll be a temporary issue, though, considering how he’s been pushing his skill with robotics to the limit lately. The circuitry laid onto the table in front of him is, arguably, the basics of restoring his sight back to normal.

“Y’know, if you’re going to be replacing all of your body parts, I wouldn’t say electronics are the way to go.”

Strife’s disassembler practically jumps to his hand as he spins around, immediately on guard.

It takes a moment for him to process the visuals in front of him. On the one hand, it’s clearly Kirin. The faux-neighbourly smile, the sideburns, the frankly _excessive_ amount of shoulder width… On the other hand, Kirin is… clearly not as human-based as Strife had previously hoped.

Strife runs his gaze over Kirin one last time, and doesn’t relax his grip on his disassembler.

“I wouldn’t say I ever asked your opinion, Kirin.” He makes pointed eye contact for as long as he can stand it, then looks to the side. “They’re perfectly functional alternatives, anyway.”

Kirin’s smile widens, showing off teeth that… yeah, he’s _definitely_ not human-based. Frankly, though, Strife spends his time with Parvis, who - while most certainly human - beats Kirin out on the creepy scale on at _least_ fifty percent of days.

“Electronics are much easier to disrupt than other forms of prosthetics, though,” is the reply that Strife receives, almost patronising. “I’d be _very_ happy to show you some other replacements you could use, if you have the time?”

“I’ll pass, thank you very much.” Strife glowers, even though he’s fully aware it won’t do a single thing to dampen Kirin’s eternal cheer. “I’m assuming you haven’t just come here to criticize my life choices?”

“Can’t I just visit a friend?” Kirin’s eyes - big, wide, bright blue - are the soul of innocence, but Strife isn’t buying it.

“We’re not friends. We’re allies, at the very best. And this is _not_ the very best.” Nor is it ever the very best, really.

There’s a pause. “No, I suppose it isn’t.” Something in Kirin’s expression changes, and he sweeps his gaze over Strife, as if assessing him. Strife doesn’t need to be a genius (though he kind of is, you know) to realize that Kirin’s gaze lingers on the metal arm at Strife’s side.

“Don’t give me anything high and mighty, Kirin,” Strife snaps, before Kirin can say anything about it. “I can make my own choices, _without_ anyone preaching to me about what I _should_ be doing.”

Kirin smiles again, but something in the curve of his mouth seems… indulgent.

“Of course you can.” Strife bristles at his tone, but Kirin moves on - and takes a step forward. Strife can feel the static that surrounds the other man, and he takes a step back in turn. The backs of his knees brush against the edge of his desk.

“I only wished,” Kirin continues, “to offer a few pointers. Helpful advice on your situation.”

Strife purses his lips, but Kirin evidently isn’t taking the hint that his _advice_ isn’t wanted. He resigns himself to having to listen to a bunch of magic talk, just to get it over with so that Kirin can be on his way. He nods, as unwelcomingly as he possibly can.

Kirin almost seems to look surprised for a moment. His frankly excessive amount of eyes all widen. And then he smiles again, and there’s something more genuine to it.

He launches off into some magic spiel - something enthusiastic in his tone that Strife has never quite heard before. He’s heard the false neighbourliness that nearly everyone he meets seems to have (Kirin, Ridge, hell, even Parv) but _actual emotion_? That’s something completely new.

Strife _does_ attempt to listen. He’s got nothing better to do, after all - no way of subtly doing any of the work that he actually wants to be getting on with. He thinks he hears something about Botania in there, and part of him wants to scoff at the idea of such bright and colourful flower magic. But then, he’s wanted to scoff at most of what Kirin’s said since he’s arrived; he might as well not break the streak now.

Strife’s disinterest must show in his gaze more acutely than normal, though, because Kirin pauses, then jumps straight onto another magic. And then another, and then another. Strife just attempts to keep projecting ‘go away’ as strongly as he possibly can.

Kirin tilts his head, smile broadening.

“I can’t help but feel that you’re not listening to me, Strife.” His tone isn’t angry, just amused. But he steps closer, and Strife has spent enough time in hostile environments to recognise the predatory stance that Kirin holds.

He’s got Strife cornered. Which isn’t the greatest thing that’s ever happened.

“Well, if the shoe fits,” Strife coughs, attempting not to show the sudden panic welling in his chest. Kirin has never outright hurt him before (though Strife has his suspicions about the Twilight Forest mission) so why would he start now? “No offence, it’s just that I’m not interested in the bullcrap you think magic can do for me.”

Kirin tilts his head, his smile broadening past what can be considered humanly possible. Wow, those sure are a lot of teeth.

“I was only trying to be polite,” Kirin says, the tone a familiar one of mock offence. “Really, I come in here, offer you my advice, and you throw it in my face? Tsk tsk.”

Strife glowers, his heart racing.

“Yeah, well,” Strife says, trying to find something to turn this situation around. “I think you’ll find I never _asked_ in the first place.”

Kirin laughs, and Strife can feel himself paling.

“Well, I suppose that’s what I get for trying to be polite.”

Kirin half-turns, as if to leave, and Strife heaves a deep breath of relief. But Kirin doesn’t move away. He stands statue-still for a moment, and Strife can hear the rolling, rumbling sound of thunder overhead.

“What the hell are you doing now--”

Static sparks in the air, so close that Strife can feel it prickling across his back. And then Kirin’s hand is on his arm, and something seems to burst, his mind going alight with shining sensation. He can feel crackling light travelling up through the wires, to his nerves, and it’s _unspeakable_.

Kirin’s hand moves away from his arm, and as he comes back to himself, Strife realises he’s half-kneeling. He has to consciously remember how to breath, and it takes so much effort.

His arm hangs by his side - limp and unresponsive.

“ _Get out of my tower_.” It’s more of a snarl than actual coherency - decorum put aside in the face of Kirin’s… Kirin-ness. Strife gives him the fiercest glare that he can muster as he pushes himself to his feet.

Strife can feel himself shaking, as if his whole body is buzzing with unspent electricity.

(God, his hair’s probably a mess now.)

“You weren’t welcome before, you weren’t welcome when you barged in here, and now you do _that_ like it’s going to _change_ anything?” Strife speaks through gritted teeth, but his tone is high, and slightly hysterical.

“I only wanted to give you a practical experience--”

Strife laughs, the sound pitchy and unpleasant.

“Bullshit! Practical for a lightning demigod-- Damnit!” It feels like a bolt of static just lanced through his stomach. Needless to say, that really fucking hurts.

For a moment, they both just stand: Strife, shaking, desperately trying to unclasp the dead metal weight of his arm, and Kirin, wearing a look of apology so pronounced that it can’t be genuine at all.

Then Strife stares at Kirin, wild-eyed.

“What did I tell you? _Get out_.”

Kirin gets out. Thankfully.

There’s a loud metallic thud as Strife lets his arm fall to the floor, and he can’t bring himself to worry about the inevitable dent just right now. Instead, he just leans against the desk, and watches his hand shake, feeling the electricity jittering through him.

**Author's Note:**

> kirin has a bad strategy
> 
> join me next time, for the conclusion to this series
> 
> you can find me at screechfoxes on tumblr.


End file.
